


Broken Glass

by MissWonnykins



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWonnykins/pseuds/MissWonnykins
Summary: His grandson still looked so small. It made his heart ache simply seeing him there at all.--A short story from a time before canon, in which a younger Samuel Oak has just recently had to start raising Gary following the untimely death of the child's parents.





	Broken Glass

“Gran’pa?”

 

The small voice close to his ear jolted Samuel Oak awake immediately; it took him a few panicked moments to remember where he was... _when_ he was. Flashes of the dream he’d been having were all that remained before they were dispelled completely, and all that was left when he finally placed himself at his home in Pallet Town was the visage of a small and green Pokemon. It wasn’t hard to deduce what he’d been dreaming about, considering Celebi’s presence.

 

Something shifted out of the corner of his eye. Fleeting terror seized the old man’s insides before his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his bedroom and took in the relatively small form standing beside his bed. At once, the recent events surrounding him came crashing down around his ears and Sam only wished to be back inside his dream once more. Instead, he found himself reaching for the lamp on his bedside table. The switch clicked several times, a warm and soft glow chasing away the shadows from most of his bedroom.

 

His grandson still looked so small. It made his heart ache simply seeing him there at all.

 

Gary was no older than four. He was barely able to see over the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and innocent. He was wearing his favorite pajamas (A big picture of an Eevee on the shirt, with long brown sleeves and matching pants) and clutching a very well-loved Growlithe doll (Named simply ‘Wuff’). A glance at the digital alarm clock beside the man’s lamp showed it was far past midnight...much too late for small children to be awake. Not without reason, anyway. “What’s the matter, lad?” Sam’s voice was heavy with exhaustion; fatigue born from several sources, some of which he would be feeling the effects of for months, if not years.

 

He was somewhat grateful when the boy finally stopped staring at him, turning his eyes onto the floor instead. “Hadda bad dream.” Was his answer.

 

“Ah...is that all?” Oh, but his back ached. Getting old and chasing after such a rambunctious child on top of his work would put him in a wheelchair soon, he was sure of it. Grimacing, Sam shifted to lean on one of his arms, watching his grandson with mild bemusement. “Well, I think you’ll find that Wuff will make sure they don’t hurt you.”

 

Gary didn’t smile.

 

It was clear that whatever dream the boy had had, it was not something he believed could be kept at bay by his stuffed toy. “...Dreams don’t typically come back all that often. You’ll probably have a different one when you go back to sleep.” Sam tried once more. As much as he desired to help the child, his body was old and tired and needed its own rest. “You’ll feel much better in the morning.”

 

“Mom’n dad used’t lemme sleep with’em when I had bad dreams.”

 

**_Ah._ **

 

Sam felt as though he physically was deflating. There was no good reason to deny Gary a spot there, despite what parenting journals liked to say those days. ‘Makes children too clingy’, ‘gives the child too much control’, on and on...but none of the ones Samuel had read mentioned any situation like the one he was dealing with. The one _both_ of them were dealing with. After a moment, the old man nodded and drew back the covers. It became clear right away that the boy was far too little still to get into bed on his own, and so he had no choice but to shift to the edge and lift Gary up onto the mattress. “There now…” He said, leaning over the boy so that he could turn off the lamp again. He was unsurprised to feel the boy snuggle in close once the darkness came over them again. “Is that better?”

 

“A little.” The very small voice whispered into the dark. “...I’m still scared…”

 

Vaguely, Sam was reminded of his own son years and years ago speaking to him in the same way - to Sam and his wife. It made him smile bitterly. “Oh that’s all right...it’s okay to be scared. Sometimes, my dreams scare me.” He murmured in return.

 

“Really…?”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

“Nu-uh. Grampas don’t _get_ scared.” A pause. “...Right?”

 

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “My dear boy...I was quite terrified just now, when you woke me. Everyone is scared at some point in their lives. It’s a part of being human: we all feel all sorts of different things...and being afraid is just one of them. I’ve been scared quite a few times in my life.”

 

“Even of dreams…?” Gary questioned, suspiciously.

 

Sam nodded. “Even of dreams. Now…” He was gentle, tucking in the boy beside him - he even went through the trouble of making sure ‘Wuff’ was placed under Gary’s chin. “...Try to go back to sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

 

Small, warm fingers found his hand and held it tightly. “Love you, Grampa.”

 

“...I love you, too.” He said, softly. He leaned over briefly to kiss the boy’s forehead before easing himself back down into his pillow. Thankfully, Gary’s breathing evened out rather quickly...leaving Sam alone and staring at the ceiling. He didn’t dare let go of the boy’s hand. So small. So vulnerable.

 

And Sam felt selfish for needing it just as much as Gary probably needed it. Some would argue that it wasn’t selfish at all to mourn in his situation, but the old man felt guilty for showing weakness in that way so close to his grandson. The child needed him to be strong, and Sam could not grieve properly until the boy was truly out of sight. Even then, he felt weak.

 

He wondered what Gary had dreamt about to startle him out of his bed and into Sam’s room. Would that become something he’d have to deal with often? Attempting to be a parent again was tougher, somehow, than the first time. The trouble was that he knew how his _son_ had acted as a small child...but Gary was not the same child. Gary was not Sam’s son. He was his son’s son. He was different.

 

Sam’s son had not lost his parents at a very young age. He had not lost Sam and his wife at the same exact moment.

 

Sam’s son hadn’t had to process two very important deaths when he was four years old. He had not had to be raised by Samuel’s own parents....or merely by one of them.

 

Gary was still a very young child - the concept of ‘death’ was fairly foreign to him. In the few days he’d been there, he had both talked about how his parents ‘weren’t coming back’ and also questioned when he would be returning to their home. It was hard to make him understand that he was never going back to the house where he had lived with his mother and his father. Sam walked on eggshells in an effort to treat the situation delicately, to handle the boy’s feelings with care. There were still outbursts, there were still tantrums. Only that morning, Gary had thrown quite the epic fit over breakfast: the way Sam tended to make eggs was not the way Gary’s mother had. There were tears, there was a time out, and by lunch time he had all but moved on while Sam still sat reeling. It wasn’t the boy’s fault, he knew, but it didn’t settle how unnerved he was over it all and how terrified he was of making more mistakes. Suppose the boy grew up to resent him for not doing a good enough job?

 

In the end, Sam knew that he could never be either of the boy’s parents: he was his grandfather, and Gary would eventually have to accept and adapt to that. There was no going back. There was no bringing back Isaac or Karen.

 

The two of them were managing. It was getting better, at least. That Gary trusted Sam to ‘protect’ him from his nightmares was a good sign. It meant that they were bonding better. The old man knew that it would be difficult to raise him - given their ages and their shared loss - but he could picture no other future...he didn’t want to. A few other relatives on Karen’s side had offered up their homes, expressing concern over an elderly man like himself taking the child in, but Samuel felt as though he wanted - no, _needed_ \- to be close to the last bit of his son left. He could remember how much his heart soared upon meeting his grandson four years ago, holding the small infant in his arms and congratulating his son and daughter-in-law most profusely. He adored the boy, truly. It felt right to have him there for good. Sam couldn’t picture the boy in any other place other than his home.

 

They needed one another.

 

Gary didn’t do much besides stir faintly when Sam placed his arm over him. When the man finally succumbed to sleep, it was thankfully dreamless.

**Author's Note:**

> Typically, I tend to favor the idea of Gary and his grandfather's relationship being strained for a variety of reasons. It felt therapeutic to write this out - a story where Samuel expresses his fondness for his grandson in spite of the grief that surrounds their situation.
> 
> I'd like to one day expand on a few of my ideas regarding Gary's parents, but for now there's only this snippet to be content with.


End file.
